The Scourge (Book 2): Adrift

by Abrahams, Tom

  He put the bottle to his lips and blew. A deep sound resonated from the glass.

  Winter tickled his arm with her fingers. “I didn’t want to say it out there, but they’re right. It’s too big a risk to go to Cocoa Beach when there’s the chance of supplies around here.”

  McQuarry set the bottle on the table and took her hand, lacing her fingers into his. She was right. Going that far, picking up everybody and caravanning across three bridges, was a huge risk.

  “I reckon it might be,” he conceded. “Big risk comes with the possibility of big rewards. We been playing small ball here. We gotta swing for the fences or we gonna get caught in a rundown.”

  She chuckled. “You know I don’t watch football. I get your point, though. You’re thinking long term and that’s good. Those James boys can’t think beyond next week.”

  McQuarry ran his thumb along hers. She was good for him. She spit fire when he crossed her, but she had his back above anyone else’s.

  Only dumb criminals got caught. The smart ones got away with everything. McQuarry had done time, which didn’t speak well for his smarts. He had no tactical experience, no ability to count five or ten moves ahead and play out all of the various eventualities. He was one to swing for the fence even if it meant striking out.

  Winter squeezed his hand. “You were smart to split them up. Taking Cooper with you was a nice move.”

  “I know Neil will tell me everything the James boys find in the neighborhood,” he said. “And it’s best to keep Cooper with me where I can keep an eye on him. I wish we didn’t need the manpower.”

  “Me too. But with those bigger groups forming, scouting all the time, we need as many strong men as we can hold onto, ya know?”

  Those large militias were sending out more and more search parties, looking to pillage or commandeer whatever they could. It was another reason to get out of Rockledge.

  He slid down in the chair and leaned his head back. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was worried. Worried that the James boys were more of a threat than a help. The only thing worse than not having power was losing it.

  The Cocoa Beach move was a huge risk, but idle hands were the devil’s workshop. That was what his dad had told him in prison. Keep people busy; give ’em things to do. That keeps them from focusing on what you’re not doing.

  The longer they stuck around Rockledge, the more agitated the James boys would become and the more they’d question him. If he moved them around, came up with plans and gave his people hope, the James boys might be less likely to stage that coup. Might.

  CHAPTER 9

  MARCH 12, 2033

  SCOURGE +162 DAYS

  COCOA BEACH, FLORIDA

  Mike stood on the dock, his back to the water; his hands were on his hips. Through the glass, he could see the entire workings of the Millers’ house. It was like looking at one of those dollhouses where you could see every room at once.

  To his right, the generator rumbled. He almost didn’t hear it anymore. For the two days they’d been on shore, Barry had it running.

  It was a luxury Mike appreciated in some ways. They had hot water, conditioned air that kept out the humidity at night, plenty of ice and a working microwave. Plus they were able to charge small electronics. Their phones were useless as phones, but occasional text messages would get through and the satellite radio app gave access to looped government and civil defense information.

  Standing on the dock, aware of the noise the generator created, he was less enthusiastic about those benefits than the others. Kandy, the television reporter, seemed to be the only one on his side.

  Not that there were sides. Everyone got along well enough for having spent months cramped together on the boat, but it did feel to Mike as if there was a schism forming.

  He understood that in the weeks and months following the Scourge, he’d unwittingly become a leader. He didn’t ask for it. It was just that in his own effort to become less conflict avoidant, he dived headfirst into it.

  Barry didn’t like it. It was his boat; this was his house. He was the oldest.

  Mike couldn’t blame him, which was why he’d done everything he could to keep the hairline fractures in the group from becoming chasms. The generator was a manifestation of it all. Barry flexed his muscle. Mike let him.

  A phantom pain shot through the missing part of his foot. He winced and flexed his calf, leaning forward on his bad foot.

  Gunshots cracked in the distance, rippling like July fireworks. The warbled voice of law enforcement on a megaphone at a checkpoint echoed. This, along with the generator, was the soundtrack of the beach.

  Other than the generator, he couldn’t be sure if the noises were on this side of the bridge or the other. Sound carried across water.

  From the side of the house, a door opened and Miriam emerged from behind it. She wore a pink Spirit Jersey and gray sweatpants, which puddled at her ankles. Despite the warm spring air, she had her arms folded across her chest, hands tucked under her biceps, like someone barricading herself from a chill.

  She clopped along the dock, flip-flops snapping against her heels as she walked toward him. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He watched her hips sway in that unaware way that drew his eyes.

  Neither spoke until she untucked her hands and wrapped her arms around him. His worry melted in the moment as he pulled her tight against his body and kissed her on the lips.

  They lingered in the embrace. Electricity zipped through his body. She purred softly and pulled away, looked at him and smiled.

  She moved her hand up to his neck and brushed his skin with her thumb. “I saw you out here all alone and thought you could use some company.”

  “I could always use your company. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Always.”

  He kissed her again. Longer. Deeper. Then he pulled away. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  She giggled and brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. “You think?”

  “I mean I am. It’s just…”

  She nodded. “It’s complicated.”

  Mike shrugged. His hands rested on her hips. “It’s hard to reconcile all of it. Finding love in the apocalypse is—”

  “The name of a reality show?”

  He chuckled. “Funny.”

  She ran her hand along the outside of his arms, tracing his triceps. “You’ve been working out.”

  Rolling his eyes, he stepped back from her. “Funnier.”

  His body had changed. He’d lost what little fat he had and put on muscle. Fishing, swimming, fighting off sharks. All of that made him stronger than he was before the Scourge. In the months since his world changed, so many things were better.

  His physique, confidence level, survival skills—everything combined to make him the hero he never thought he could be. He didn’t think of himself that way, but he understood others in his group did. Everyone but Barry. Barry was threatened. Mike understood it and worked to avoid confrontations when possible. The generator was a battle worth fighting.

  Mike glanced toward the house and back at Miriam. She must have sensed his preoccupation, that something weighed on him.

  “I’ll stop teasing,” she said. “I can tell you’re not in the mood.”

  “True. I’m sorry.”

  She glanced back at the house. “The generator?”

  He didn’t answer, letting the rumble speak for him. The longer he listened, the louder it sounded.

  “I think it’s a mistake,” he said. “It’s only a matter of time before someone with bad intentions rolls past and realizes what’s what.” He waved a hand at the glass. “Even with the hurricane shutters closed over those windows, it’s not as though we’re in a fortress. Wouldn’t take much for somebody to break into the house. We can’t be on guard around the clock. Not—”

  She put a hand on his chest. “I get it. It’s Barry’s house though. We have two choices. We accept the things we cannot change—”

&n
bsp; “Or we change the things we cannot accept.”

  Miriam smirked. “I was going to say we either accept the things we can’t change, or we make a change. Nothing is keeping us here, Mike. We could leave.”

  The side door opened again. Phil peeked his head around the edge and then closed the door behind him. He made his way along the dock toward them. With a wave, he started talking before he reached them.

  “I was looking for you guys,” he said. “Had a question for you.”

  “Hi, counselor,” said Miriam. “It’s not like we were outside because we wanted privacy or anything.”

  Phil frowned. “It’s a serious question. It’s about Barry.”

  The mention of his name automatically drew Mike’s attention to the house. He scanned the glass for Barry but didn’t see him. Jimmy and Sally were in the family room now, both of them on the couch. Sally tapped and slid her fingers on a tablet while Jimmy read a book.

  Their mom, Betsy, was in the kitchen. She had a bottle of red wine in front of her and swirled a glass in her hand.

  Miriam bit. “What about Barry?”

  Mike watched Betsy down the glass and pour another. She leaned on the kitchen island with the palm of her hand and tossed back her head with a sigh before taking another healthy sip from the glass.

  Phil stepped into Mike’s line of sight. “He’s got a short fuse. Very short. He wants nothing to do with any sort of discussion. I think he sees any alternative point of view as a threat or a challenge to his authority.”

  Miriam stepped back from Mike and crossed her arms at her chest. “Authority?”

  “It’s his house, his boat. We’re all here at his invitation.”

  Inside the house, a light flicked on in an upstairs room. Brice moved into view and stood in front of the window. He pressed his hands to the glass, cupping them around his eyes and looked out into the night. It didn’t appear as though he noticed the impromptu confab on the dock.

  Mike rubbed his chin. “He’s your friend, Phil. You guys go way back, right? Can’t you talk to him?”

  “I’ve tried,” Phil said. “He blows me off. Or he yells at me. He’s not the same guy. Not at all.”

  Conspiratorially, Phil checked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Betsy’s not the same either. She’s drinking a lot. Always has a glass in her hand. I’m worried. Miriam, could you talk to Betsy? Get a gauge on what’s going on behind closed doors? Is he confiding in her things we should know?”

  Mike studied Miriam’s body language, thinking she might lob another “counselor” shot at Phil. She didn’t. Her arms were unfolded. She played with the end of her ponytail, twirling it with her index finger.

  “Look,” she said, “I could talk to Betsy. Though I’m not sure how much she’d tell me. We get along and all, but we’re not besties. Why don’t you have Kandy do it? They get along. They’re roughly the same age, have more in common. Betsy might take offense to someone younger butting into her business.”

  Phil twisted his mouth to one side, considering her point. He nodded. “You’re right. I should ask Kandy.”

  Miriam motioned to the house with her chin. “Where is she? Kandy, I mean?”

  “Sleeping. She’s not herself since we came back. Very distant.”

  Mike put his hand on the small of Miriam’s back, drawing her closer to him. “Everybody is handling this in their own way. It’s not easy. None of us have been through an apocalypse before. Our lives are not the same. This place isn’t the same. Might not ever be the same.”

  Phil chuckled. “You seem to be handling it better than most, Mike. It’s like you’re made for this.”

  Mike wasn’t sure how to take that. It sounded like a backhanded compliment at best. Or a dig. But Phil wasn’t the kind of person to antagonize and he wasn’t passive-aggressive. Rather than jump on him, he asked, “What do you mean?”

  Phil raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s a compliment, Mike. Seriously. Kandy and I talk about it…well, we did on the boat…about how you’ve come into your own. Like you were waiting for the world to end to start living.”

  Mike narrowed his eyes. “Uh, thanks?”

  “Really,” Phil said, “I meant it as a compliment. None of us would have made it out there without you. I think I can say that on behalf of everyone.”

  He glanced at Miriam for support.

  “You won’t get an argument from me,” she said, looping an arm around Mike’s. “He’s my hero.”

  Phil took two steps back. “I’ll talk to Kandy, ask her to see what she can find out from Betsy and we’ll go from there. In the meantime, I think we need to keep watch. Especially in the middle of the night. You know?”

  Mike sighed. “Yeah. We were just talking about that. I’ll take first watch tonight.”

  “Thanks. Sorry to bother.” Phil waved and spun around to walk to the house.

  Mike waited for the door to close behind him. “I don’t like this.”

  Miriam looked up at him. “Like what?”

  “Any of it. It’s like we’re coming apart at the seams. It was better on the boat.”

  “We could leave,” she reminded him. “There’s nothing keeping us here.”

  “Brice.”

  She rolled her eyes lovingly. “We can take Brice with us. I wouldn’t suggest leaving him alone. There’s one condition though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not killing people for hair gel. He’ll have to accept that as a condition.”

  Mike laughed. It was a genuine laugh and it felt good, releasing the tension from his body. “Deal.”

  “I’m going inside,” she said. “You coming?”

  “In a minute.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, Miriam kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “I love you too.”

  It was the first time a woman had said those words to him. His heart pounded in his chest and he pulled back from her, his hands gripping her shoulders. “It only took until the end of the world for us to find each other,” he said.

  She thumbed his cheek on the spot where she’d kissed him, turned and winked at him over her shoulder. “Better late than never.”

  Mike watched her walk toward the house, his eyes lingering on the places that men’s eyes linger on the women they love.

  When the door was closed, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned away from the house. He walked toward the boat and stood with his toes at the edge of the dock. Inhaling the salt air, he looked out across the black, listening to the water slap against the pilings.

  It was more soothing than the distant gunshots, the whoops from sirens, the faint but familiar thump of helicopter rotors. It was better than the drum of the generator.

  Water sloshed against the Rising Star. His mind drifted, recalling what Phil said to him. Like you were waiting for the world to end to start living.

  Was that true? Had it taken the Scourge for Mike to find himself?

  He stepped to the boat and climbed aboard. He reached his hand into the ice chest on the rear deck and dug around blindly until he found the hidden key.

  Mike took the key to the helm and turned on the boat’s power. The command panel came to life, glowing in front of him. He sank back into one of the captain’s chairs and found the controls for the satellite radio, their only consistent means of communication with the outside world. The standard AM and FM channels were mostly static. If there was anything broadcast, it was squelchy, intermittent and unintelligible.

  Their two-way radio could communicate with other vessels and with those along the coast, but they’d learned quickly not to trust the people on the other ends of those radios. While there were good people, there were also desperate people and it was hard to tell the difference. After getting burned a couple of times, they’d abandoned direct communication with anyone, instead relying on eavesdropping and audio reception only, no outgoing messages. That was Mike’s decision, though he convinced everyone but Miriam it was Barry’s idea.<
br />
  The satellite radio proved their best link to the truth of what was happening. Or at least the official truth of what was happening. Multiple channels provided updated recorded statements from various government agencies.

  He adjusted the volume so it was loud enough to hear but soft enough not to draw attention. There was a series of tones and then a woman’s voice began the start of the message.

  “You are listening to an update from the United States Department of Homeland Security. The following information is the most recent available. It does not necessarily reflect changing conditions or operational shifts.”

  The updates never gave a time or date. Since it was several days since he’d last listened, he couldn’t be sure how fresh the message was.

  “The United States government executive branch is operating from an undisclosed location. Leadership from the legislative branch is operating from an undisclosed location. The judicial branch is nonoperational. Martial law remains in effect for all territories under government control. The Posse Comitatus Act is suspended. The military is empowered to enforce laws. If you come in contact with United States military personnel, you are to comply with their requests and demands. They are acting under the authority of the executive branch.”

  None of this information was new. For three weeks or longer, the judicial branch had been reported nonoperational. Mike didn’t know what that meant. The repeated use of the phrase “executive branch” had him wondering if the president was alive.

  “Territories not under government control include the former states of Wyoming, Montana and Texas. United States military personnel are positioned at the borders of these territories. Passage into these territories is permitted. Return to the United States from these territories is not guaranteed. Be prepared for lengthy delays if attempting to cross borders from these territories into the United States.”

  This was also old information. Mike understood from previous broadcasts and from eavesdropping on others’ conversations that Wyoming and Montana were partially under government control. Large pieces of property, ranches and farms that amounted to hundreds of thousands of acres, had declared independence, but the states themselves were in the fold. Texas was a different story altogether.